Shaded Kisses — a Clato fanfic
by Ocean Harmony
Summary: Clove, Cave, CatoXClove, CloveXCato, whatever you wanna call it. Just another Clato fanfic (in which they're the real star-crossed lovers) where they are still in the Hunger Games. Rated T because I'm really paranoid.


**Ocean Harmony here! It's Ocean Harmony again! Well, this is my first HG story, and I would advise you at least know how the Hunger Games work because, well, you should or the story would seem weird. No spoilers inside, because I changed it. :D**

**Anyway, sit back and relax, and hopefully you'll enjoy this! Review please, because Harmony loves you all! 333**

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"Hey, _Clovely_," Cato smiles widely, putting an arm around me. He leans onto my shoulder and breathes into my hair. "You look gorgeous today."

"Clove, lovely, whatever," I roll my eyes, but I still feel the corners of my mouth moving up. "I'm going for fierce and fiery yet sexy, not gorgeous and preppy like those District One idiots."

"Didn't know you actually had fashion sense," Cato smirks. I hit him on the arm. "Not very funny."

Ironically, we both burst out laughing as we walk, hand in hand, into the most famous café in District 2 – The Patio.

The blinding fluorescent lights hung around the ceiling in random places, and the polished, black-and-white checkered floor was scratched yet stylish. I slid onto a cushioned chair, opposite Cato. It's noisy today, with almost all the young couples in District 2 here, as a tradition – a date before Reaping Day. I can barely hear the jazz music blaring in the background from the jukebox.

A waiter, on rollerblades, skates up to us. He sets down two sets of menus on the bright pink retro table, but Cato brushes it away."Ice-cream sundae for two." The waiter nods, and then skates away.

"_Cato_! You _know_ I don't eat ice-cream. The Academy forbids it."

"Who cares? It's not like you've been eating it every day. It won't affect your performance in the Hunger Games. That is, _if _you can even volunteer fast enough. Anyways… Happy fabulous fifteen." He pulls out a red velvet box from the pocket of his tuxedo and presents it to me.

"It's my birthday, but it's called sweet sixteen, there's no such thing as fabulous fifteen." I accept the box, smiling to myself as I flip it around in my palm. Laced with intricate patterns of gold and with a heart-shaped ruby in the middle of the lid, it must have cost a fortune. I gingerly unlatched the silver clasp and pulled open the lid.

A silver chain necklace lay inside, curled around a black velvet cushion. Right in the middle was a large emerald, in the shape of a clover. I lift the beautiful necklace from the box, but Cato took it from my hands and tied it around my neck. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. "A four-leaved clover. For good luck tomorrow. A _Clove_-er. Get it?"

I laugh, tucking the velvet box into my black purse. "A lame joke, but I appreciate it."

"Your ice-cream sundae for two." The waiter skates up to us and set it on the table. Cato pays for it, and then we tuck in. It is really good – a cool, creamy flavor sliding down my throat.

"We should go for a dance, " Cato says suddenly, putting down his spoon.

"What? We're not even half done with the ice cream yet."

"Just come on." Cato laughs, pulling me from my seat. I stumble, regain my balance, then follow Cato onto the dance floor.

"C'mon, people! One, two, three, four!' The DJ says from somewhere to my right. I can't see him; I'm completely blocked by the other couples.

The disco ball starts spinning in the ceiling, and everything is bathed in the glow of thousands of lights, which were once white - now they are multicoloured.

"May I have this dance, mi'lady?" Cato grins, bowing. He stretches out a hand, and I take it.

"Of course. Who else would dance with you?" I roll my eyes, but I still take his hand.

We dance to a slow, graceful waltz. It ends too soon, and I would have liked to dance more with Cato, but my parents had instructed me to come home before nine. It was already eight forty-five.

Cato walked me home. As I stood outside my house, ready to get in, Cato grabbed my arm.

"Don't I get a kiss before you leave?"

I don't bother replying. Instead, I slowly move my head towards him, and he does the same. I close my eyes, feeling his lips against mine. It is beautiful.

After we finally pull away, I give him a small smile, before turning away and walking up the front steps to my corner terrace house. As my hand rests on the doorknob, I glance over my shoulder, seeing his fading silhouette disappear into the distance.

- ~*{}*~ - ~*{}*~ - ~*{}*~ - ~*{}*~ - ~*{}*~ -

"Clove. You're home." My mother says, not as warmly as anyone else's parents would. Even for two people who only see each other for two weeks every year, we are cold and formal towards each other.

"Yes," I say flatly. "I am."

"You're late."

"So? It's not like you've ever cared," I snapped back. My hand was gripping one of the knives I always keep in my jacket.

"Well, I could've cared more for you didn't run away to go to the Academy when you were five!" Her voice was starting to rise now. I don't care, though. Pulling the knife out of my jacket, I throw it onto the floor. The metal blade gets driven into the hard wood, with the handle sticking out. "That was because you didn't care! ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IT THE GAMES! You don't care about me. What you care about is me winning. So I will, and you will never blame me for joining the Academy again!" I stormed up the stairs, letting my thundering footsteps be heard throughout the household.

I am the best student in the Academy. I will win this, and no one will _ever_ question me again.

- ~*{}*~ - ~*{}*~ - ~*{}*~ - ~*{}*~ - ~*{}*~ -

"Hello, mother," I say coldly. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Clove." We have a short glaring competition, before I finally say, "I am going to see Cato now... And to train at the Academy." I turn on my heel with my head held high, and slam the door behind me.

The morning air is refreshing, compared to the stuffiness inside. I don't bother finding Cato. Instead I head straight to the Academy.

The building is completely unique, with walls made of tainted glass, so you can't really see through it, but everyone inside can see you. The perfect place for an attack. Not that there will ever be one. Who would be stupid enough to launch an attack on a building like that?

I march right into the training room to vent my anger. Everyone steers clear ofme and gives me a wide berth. The reputation I built up over the years satisfies me. I am not to be messed with, especially when I'm in a bad mood.

Anyway, the instructor greets me as I storm towards my usual station. Knives. Throwing knives. I throw them one by one, and the sound of the knife hitting a bullseye every single time resounds around the semi-quiet room, with a sound of low murmuring and the occasional clash of swords, but otherwise, it is silent.

I imagine every target is someone I hate.

That's my mother. _Thwack_, the knife is driven straight into the target.

Preppy blondes. _Thwack_. That nerd in school. _Thwack_. District One. _Thwack_. Everyone that I hate, gone.

As I throw them, I think of other things too. The possibility of volunteering quick enough. My chances of winning. And most if all, Cato.

Cato is sweet in a different way. He likes my sharp tongue and wit and sarcasm and responds to it with sarcasm too. He is strong, emotionally and physically. Assured and confident, with a bit of cockiness that makes it appealing. He's not going to volunteer this year, but he's been joking that he'll volunteer when they're still choosing the female tribute and see the reaction of the mayor and our district escort, Lavender Falls.

"Clover." I feel a hand resting in my shoulder, and I immediately know who it is. "Cato."

"Wazzup, Clover?" he leans on the wall not too far behind me, an easy (and charming) smile on his face, showing white teeth. "Mum troubles?"

"What do you think?" I spit. "What else?"

"Today is Reaping Day, Clove," Cato half-drawls. "We're supposed to he celebrating, no?"

"That was yesterday. We celebrate the day _before_. We get ready on the day itself."

"Well, then may I have the honours?" Cato grins, holding out a hand to me. "Care to get ready at my place?"

"Yes," is my simple answer. Of course I do.

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**Did you enjoy it? I hope you did. More coming** **soon. I love you all. ❤**


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